


Prison of a Different Kind

by Brorifles (Kyloisadisneyprincess)



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kyloisadisneyprincess/pseuds/Brorifles
Summary: “There is more than one sort of prison, Captain, I sense that you carry yours wherever you go.” -Chirrut Îmwe
Relationships: Alexsandr Kallus/Garazeb "Zeb" Orrelios
Comments: 2
Kudos: 68
Collections: Kalluzeb appreciation week 2020.





	Prison of a Different Kind

**Author's Note:**

> For Day 1 of Kalluzeb Appreciation 2020: Prisoner of the Empire

Kallus stayed a prisoner of the Empire long after he left. It was noticeable still in his walk: the even clip of heel, toe, heel, toe. Zeb had thought that Kallus would adjust easily to the rebel life. Once, that ideal had felt as real as the scruff growing in on Kallus’s chin. But whatever horrors the empire had unleashed on the galaxy, had been visited on their own first. And Kallus had been taught to be grateful for it. 

Kallus woke every morning before dawn. And now, Zeb has nothing against an early riser in his bed. But Kallus wakes in fear. Fear that Zeb can feel doubled in the pounding of his heartbeat if they are ever caught sleeping late. 

“Did you realize you are a rabbit in a gundark’s nest?” Zeb asks, pulling Kallus in towards his chest. General Draven can wait. Hell, Mon Mothma herself can wait.

“Yes, and they'll eat me alive if they find out.”. Kallus pulls on his boots and heads out.

-

Zeb notices how little he eats even when they are not rationing. Zeb can insist on a little more here and there but never much. And what extra Kallus does eat is taken like a poison: quiet and all at once. 

“You don’t need to nurse me, Zeb. It’s more efficient if I only take what little I need.” What Kallus insists was ingrained as a habit for efficiency, Zeb knows was put in place for control.

-

They are looking at him and they expect an answer. Kallus can almost feel the tight uniform collar against his throat, the weight of his chest plate on his shoulders. They want the opinion of an  _ Imperial  _ expert. He sees Aresko and Grint’s headless bodies, the sound of them hitting the floor roars into the explosion of Tua’s ship. He jerks awake. 

Zeb has him pinned and regards him carefully. Ears flicking up once he can see the recognition in Kallus’s eyes. The vice grip becomes intertwined fingers and Zeb holds him till their breathing evens out.

“Where did you go?” Zeb asks.

“Somewhere I don't belong,” Kallus pauses.“What did I do?”

“You kneed me in my stomach, nearly owed me some waffles.” 

“Huh, better than the alternative.”

“Yes, That would be disappointing for the both of us.”

They smile in the darkness and laughter breaks their even breathing: In and out, in and out.


End file.
